Prelude
by J Unleashed
Summary: "It is a complete mystery on what kind of background [Asami] came from to enable him to rise to such a high level in the underworld." Where did Asami come from and what were his family's secrets? A story of Asami's origins and the beginning of his rise in the criminal underworld.
1. Chapter 1

. . . . .

He watched as the driver loaded a lone suitcase into the trunk of a car. The suitcase contained some clothes, a small case with personal items such as a toothbrush and comb... and nothing more. He almost didn't even take those things, but was forced to do so by the old woman. Had he the choice, he would have taken nothing. He wanted no piece of the place he was leaving behind. Had he the presence of mind, he would have burned it down and destroyed all that it contained. Made it so it no longer existed. Never existed. And then...

The 'and then' hovered in his thoughts. And then, what? Revenge, of course. But what can a 14-year-old boy do? _I should be dead, _the boy thought._ I should have taken the gun. Taken it and run away. Found that person and killed them. And then..._

And then? Turned the gun on himself, he supposed. Finish what was meant to be.

. . . . .

The boy rode in the backseat of the fancy, black car. Next to him sat a tiny woman. She was old, thin, and frail. You could say just a mere breeze could blow her away, except even the wind wouldn't dare push this woman around. As tiny as she was, she radiated an aura of power and her fierce eyes would make even the most powerful men feel compelled to bow to her. The boy never liked the old woman much and he bristled when she came to him and claimed him as if he was a piece of property. He would be damned if he would ever bow to her.

Ever.

. . . . .

Nishi... that was the name of the short, balding, and slightly overweight older man. The name of the driver. And now, he was... a what? A butler? The boy sat at a low table and Nishi served him a cup of tea. The boy placed his hands on either side of the cup, and was surprised to feel an uncomfortable heat burn his fingers. It was the first time in a long time that he could recall feeling any sensation on his skin. He suddenly felt very tired. When was the last time he slept? He couldn't remember sleeping, but he also couldn't remember if he remembered NOT sleeping. _The whole world has gone insane, except I'm the only sane person left in it._

"Ryuichi."

Hearing his name jarred him as he realized he had nodded off while sitting at the table. The old woman was now sitting across from him, staring at him with her fierce eyes. The boy was unsettled by her gaze. He felt that same compulsion to bow before her. He thought if he showed her any weakness, she would swallow him alive. "You have yet to shed tears, I've been told. Tell me, when do you plan to mourn?"

Such a personal thing to ask! His words came out more forcefully and sharply than he intended. "There is nothing to mourn."

"Ah, rage... that is how you have been getting by. Unfortunately, your coping mechanism is nothing more than a childish tantrum. It will not sustain you for much longer." The old woman tilted her head slightly and looked at him as if she was analyzing an interesting artifact. "Tell me, my child, who is the target of your rage?"

"I am no child, much less YOURS," he spat.

"Oh, but you are mine, and I have the papers to prove it. Like it or not, you now belong to me."

"LIKE HELL, I DO!"

"Don't raise your voice at your elders. It's unseemly." Her calm statement disarmed him easily and effectively. "Though your dislike of me is apparent, I do not believe I am the target of your rage. Who is, then? Is it your father?"

A memory threatened to surface. He tamped it down immediately. "No..." he answered, not quite sure of himself.

"Yourself, perhaps?"

"Kurosawa," he replied softly.

The old woman glanced at Nishi meaningfully. Nishi nodded as some secret communication passed between them. She leaned her elbows onto the table and rested her chin on top of her folded hands. "Where does this name, 'Kurosawa', come from?"

"I think... he is the one responsible."

"I don't recall you mentioning any names to the police. How exactly is he responsible? This 'Kurosawa' is not the one who pulled the trigger, is he?"

The boy thought he knew where the old lady was going with this, and he was not going to allow her to manipulate him like that. He rudely placed his elbows on the table, rested his chin on top of his folded hands and glared at her, in a deliberate attempt to mock her.

His grandmother's piercing gaze never wavered. Suddenly his eyelids felt heavy and he tried to blink, except once his eyes closed it was impossible to open them again.

. . . . .

Blood. The normally ordered and spotless house was splattered everywhere with blood, it seemed. He was sitting in an odd position on the ground and noticed there were even spots of blood on him. There was a gun on the ground beside him. His father seemed to having trouble walking and he stumbled. His father fell face down right in front of him, and the boy watched his father convulse as a puddle of blood spread on the ground beneath his body. The boy gasped...

... and awoke in a soft futon. The window was open and a soft breeze was blowing into the room. He knew by the light that it was an early morning sun that was streaming through the window. He heard the sound of birds. It felt so peaceful. The boy threw back the covers and saw he was dressed in pyjamas. _How did I end up in these?_ He must have fallen asleep so deeply that someone was able to dress him and put him to bed without him waking.

He got up and looked around his room. There was a low dresser against the wall. Opening the drawers he found the clothes that had been in his suitcase had been neatly placed in the dresser. On top of the dresser were a single set of folded clothes, apparently clothes for the day for him to change into. _Nishi,_ he guessed.

He ignored the clothes and opened the sliding door to the room. He slowly padded down the long hallway looking around everywhere. He was in an old, traditional Japanese house. It was the first time he had ever been to his grandmother's house and so he took his time exploring and peeking into various rooms. One room was distinctly feminine. Curious, he entered the room and examined the pictures on the wall and the objects on the dresser. _My mother's childhood room, _he realized. One of the pictures was that of a young child, maybe 6 years old. It was strange to see his mother in the face of the child's. He suddenly saw a different face. It was nearly unrecognizable, as part of the face was missing... except for the empty eyes that seem to stare nowhere. He knew, without a doubt, the face belonged to his mother.

"No!" He shook his head to clear the vision and backed out of the room, stumbling in the doorway on his way out.

Back in the hall again, he realized he was breathing hard. He heard the ticking of a clock somewhere nearby and he used the sound to help him calm his breathing. He heard another sound and followed its source until he entered a kitchen. Nishi was in there, cooking.

"Have a seat at the table. I am almost finished making your meal."

The boy didn't move. The thought of eating didn't appeal to him at all. "I'm not hungry."

Nishi turned and gave him a stern look. "Then, a cup of tea will be sufficient?"

The boy shrugged nonchalantly and sat down at the table. A cup of tea was placed in front of him. As he drank the tea, he heard a bowl being placed next to him. "If you can drink tea, then surely you can have a little soup as well."

To be polite, he tried the soup and was amazed how good it tasted. As he ate the soup, a bowl of rice was also placed down, then pickled vegetables, eggs, fish... the dishes just kept coming and the boy found that he could not stop eating.

Finally, he sat back and watched as Nishi cleared away all the dishes. He realized that his mind was beginning to clear. He hadn't felt this good in days, like almost normal again. He knew he owed something to this man. "Thank you, it was very good."

Nishi looked pleased. "I am happy you enjoyed it," he replied, pouring the boy another cup of tea.

It felt strange to have this man serving him. "Where is my grandmother?"

"She has gone into town to take care of some legal matters, having to do with you."

_Legal matters._ He mulled the words over in his head, _I must be in trouble after all._ He wondered why Nishi was not with her. _Isn't he her driver? _He doubted the old woman could drive that large car, much less see over the steering wheel. He smiled slightly trying to picture it.

"We have learned..." Nishi hesitated, and then changed the subject. "You'll be going out to lunch with your grandmother and her lawyer when she returns. In the meantime, do you like to read? You'll find a very good collection of books in her studio. You are welcome to borrow whatever you like."

"Where is it?"

"At the end of the hallway." Nishi turned to the sink and began washing up.

He returned to the long hallway and followed it to the end. He slid the door open and found himself in a room with a collection of paintings on one side and a large bookshelf on the other. He walked up to an easel that held one of the paintings that was in progress. It was beautiful watercolor of bluebirds perched on a branch with pink blossoms. _She paints?_ He carefully examined all the paintings. All of them were either flowers or birds, or both. He looked at the signature on the paintings: Asami Kimiko. _So, that is her name._

He turned to the bookshelf next. _Nishi was right, it is a good collection_. He chose a book and pulled it from the shelf. As he began thumbing through it, he heard a car start up from the distance. He looked out the window and saw the black car pull out, with Nishi driving. He realized Nishi must have driven his grandmother to where she needed to go, then returned to make him breakfast, and now was leaving to pick her up again. _All this trouble... for me?_

The boy placed the book back on the shelf. This was not where he should be. It was merely a distraction from what he needed to do.

. . . . .

He returned to his room and dressed in the clothes that were laid out for him. He found his wallet in another drawer and checked it. He had been carrying a good amount of money before and it was still there. He remembered seeing a train station nearby and he thought he had enough money to travel for as far as he needed to go.

His shoes were near the front door. As he slipped on his shoes, he noticed another watercolor hanging near the entrance. This one was not flowers or birds but a painting of the house itself. He exited the house, closing the door behind him. He turned around to take one last look at the house._ This is would have been nice dream, but I am not destined to go down this path. The path I choose is nearly at an end._

He noticed a brass nameplate by the door that read, ASAMI. The boy traced the name with his fingers.

He turned away from the house and took the path that led to the train station.

. . . . .

* * *

_. _

_This piece is just an experiment in writing an original Viewfinder drama. It speculates on what kind of background and experiences might have given rise to a man like Asami. ____He is a man that appears to have come from a wealthy family (given his tastes, manners, and high level of education), but he also a man with violent tendencies who is perfectly at home within the criminal world. The story_ goes on the assumption that he has a good reason for wanting to hide and/or protect his past, as well as a different original family name.  



	2. Chapter 2

. . . . .

The answers didn't match up. Frustrated, he threw his pencil down and slammed the book shut. It was impossible to make sense of the numbers when he had other things buzzing around in his head- such as his father's strange behavior lately. Six months ago his father had come home and was uncharacteristically depressed. His mother couldn't get much out of him, except that things were not going well with his company. Whatever it was must be bad. He began coming home later and later, and then sometimes not until the next day, saying he was so busy he might as well stay and sleep in his office. When asked, the man who had always been so enthusiastic about talking about work now only offered cryptic responses. He said they were going through a rough spot- but not to worry, things were being worked out.

This time, he had disappeared without a word for three days. He finally showed up at home this evening. His mother had been very worried when he didn't come home for so long, but instead of being relieved when he finally walked through the door, she seemed to be even MORE worried.

Something was terribly wrong. The boy didn't know what it was. It reminded him of the build up of tension you could feel just before a typhoon was about to hit. During this last time of his father's disappearance, his mother wanted to send him to stay with his grandmother... just for a little while, so she could work things out with his father. The grandmother who he only saw once a year. That grouchy old lady who seemed to disapprove of everything.

_I bet they're going to get a divorce_, he thought. _This is going to suck._ He knew a few people at school whose parents had recently split. It seemed like a trend, lately. One of those people was a close friend of his. This friend had deeply withdrawn into himself, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to draw his friend back out. His friend's class standing and grades had taken a big drop.

_I can't let that happen to me_. He picked up his pencil and opened his book again. Working backwards through the problem he found the mistake that threw off the whole solution. It had been a simple addition mistake. He erased the part that went bad and put his pencil to the paper...

_BANG!_

The deafening sound felt like it originated right inside his head. It caused his whole body to jump, which in turn made the pencil in his hand leave a deep, dark gash across the paper...

_Ka-chuk, ka-chuk, ka-chuk..._

His head was against a cold, hard window and his body felt like it was gently swaying back and forth, even though he seemed to be seated in a chair. The sky was a uniform gray; not a dark gray, but a bright gray. It probably will rain later. The landscape from a distance was moving slowly, but close up it was a blur of bright green.

_Ka-chuk, ka-chuk, ka-chuk..._

He felt a sense of disorientation as he discovered he was no longer in his room but in a strange, enclosed place. For a moment he considered he might still be dreaming, and then he realized that he was indeed awake and on a train. _How can I still be tired,_ he wondered. _The movement and the constant rhythmic sound must have lulled me to sleep._

_The explosive sound... did it happen just now, or did I dream that?_

He sat up. There was a middle-aged man sitting next to him, reading a book. There was nothing for him to do but stare at the seat in front of him, or to look out the window. He looked out the window again. The passing scenery was hypnotic; buildings... houses... fields... He had the urge to close his eyes again, but he needed to think. _What do I have to go on?_ He only had a name: Kurosawa. It was possible that this person had nothing to do with what happened, but the only time he had heard the name, his father had spoken it with a bitter venom. There HAD to be something there.

What else? His father's company, SeaSong. It was a prosperous business that his father wanted so much to bring him into, someday. He had made many trips to Tokyo to sit in on meetings; to watch how his father managed it, and to learn. He loved shadowing his father at work! Those trips stopped about a year ago. Then six months ago, the rumblings of trouble within the company began; about the same time his father began to act strangely. Maybe someone at SeaSong could give him some answers. _Maybe this Kurosawa is connected somehow, and if I find out he is responsible..._

_I'll find him, and then destroy him._

_. . . . . _

It was the first time he ever had to navigate through the business district by himself. He recognized some of the landmarks but it took him a while to find the correct building. However, when he entered the building he received a huge shock.

There was an empty space where the SeaSong nameplate should be.

He went over to the reception desk. Perhaps he was in the wrong building after all? He was informed the company had been dissolved over a month ago and the offices on that floor were now empty. It no longer existed. They had no other information, other than they didn't know of anyone named Kurosawa.

_How can a company just completely disappear? Where did all the employees go?_

Dead end. There was nothing to go on now.

. . . . .

He walked not knowing where he was going. What now? He thought back to the time when everything began to change. His father had stopped bringing him to Tokyo. There had been another bad year once, when things beyond anyone's control caused the business to go into a slump, but even then his father had showed him how they were solving the problem by analyzing different paths they could take. His father made some radical changes and the company recovered, and made even more money than it had before. If his father wanted him to someday work there, why wouldn't his father guide him through the latest trouble? Why not this last time? His father had acted like a man who had something to hide.

_You got involved in something bad, didn't you? Kurosawa had something to do with it. You mentioned his name._

He was taken away from his thoughts by the sound of giggles. He had just absentmindedly passed a group of girls in their school uniforms. Oh yes, school. He had missed several weeks of it already. That life seemed like a long time ago. He turned to look back at the girls. One by one they looked him in the eyes and then quickly lowered their gazes or looked away, smiling shyly. The classic subtle invitation. One girl maintained a steady gaze. He smiled at her, and she returned his smile without looking away. _She's the one._ He turned back around and walked away from the group. _A long time ago, I would have gone up and talked to her._

There was an arcade nearby, so he wandered inside to check it out. The loud mixture of different electronic sounds from the games were comfortably familiar to him. There were kids in here, too; laughing, smiling, chattering away, acting normally. He felt bewildered for a second that the world kept moving forward in total disregard of his parents' death. Shouldn't time have stopped, or at least paused for that? He spotted a "beat 'em up" game that he knew very well. He always got the highest score on this game, so his name occupies number the one spot back home. He fed money into the machine and played. By the end of the game he had beaten his previous personal high score. The list of high scores came up and he was shocked to see that he didn't even crack the top 20. _Well, this is Tokyo after all._

Self-doubt crashed down onto him like a wave. _I am nothing here. I don't know what I'm doing. What was I planning to do?_

Shaken, he decided to leave the arcade. As he walked out, he passed a shooter game. Instead of using buttons, you're supposed to use the gun in the holster to shoot at targets. He left the arcade and kept walking until he came to a park. He sat down on a bench to figure out what he was going to do next, but the shooter game he had seen kept intruding in on his thoughts. It had a gun.

_There was a gun._

Where had it come from? Why would something like that be in his house?! He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The gun was on the floor. It's not something a policeman would carry; not a revolver. It was black and looked like something you would see in an gangster movie. There was blood on the gun. He quickly opened his eyes and let out his breath. Where would a gun like that come from?

"Yakuza," he said, out loud.

. . . . .

* * *

.

_Again, the intent is to speculate how a man like Asami came into power in both the legitimate business world and the underworld. He is able to keep both in balance with ease. Keep in mind; at this point he is a boy whose experiences are just beginning to shape the future man. You should see only tiny glimpses right now, but more and more of the Asami we know should emerge as the story progresses... if I am able do this properly._

_I am very grateful for the reviewers who gave some me some helpful feedback and encouragement to explore this path a little more: Asami's clown, Yamiga, SAGE, Moiiira, finderlov, Capricorn989, Kunoichi of the Moonlit Night, Lidsworth, radcat38, tony riko chan; and ideas from various gang members of a particular, delightfully dysfunctional, website. Thank you very much!_


	3. Chapter 3

. . . . .

_Yakuza._

Where to start? The first place that came to his mind was Shinjuku, but it was quite a distance from where he was now. When he entered the Metro station, he was astonished by the sheer number of people swarming the place. He never before had ridden on the subway, and there was no way he would allow himself to be swallowed up by a crowd like that.

_There's too many people. No, I'll have to find another way._

He looked at a map. Roppongi was another place that had a reputation for Yakuza activity and it was nearby. He walked in that direction.

The first area he entered into had expensive stores, but he soon made his way to the entertainment section. There wasn't much activity yet, since it was still daylight. He knew the touts would soon be out, looking for unsuspecting foreigners with fat wallets to draw into their clubs. _How does one approach a Yakuza?_ He had to figure out a way.

He wandered around, carefully watching people. One man looked uncomfortable in the heat of the day. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, causing the long sleeve of his shirt to ride up and expose a part of his forearm. The boy spotted the unmistakable blue color of a tattoo. The man lowered his hand and tugged his sleeve down to cover the mark, almost as an afterthought. The boy decided to follow him.

The man with the hidden tattoo entered through a door of what looked like to be a small restaurant, tucked discretely among the other shops. The boy followed, but when he entered the place he discovered it was more of a bar than a restaurant. Several of the men looked up, staring at him and clearly communicating that he was not welcome there. One in particular, gave him a significant piercing look. His eyes reminded him of a tiger he once saw at a zoo.

Rather than to apologize and call more attention to himself, he figured his best course of action would be to quickly turn around and leave without a word. Hopefully, they would think he made a mistake. He immediately turned around and walked back out the door.

He quickly crossed the street and entered a small used-book store. There were stacks of books everywhere and they made for a good cover. _I'll just wait until the tattooed man leaves the bar, and then I'll follow him to see where he goes._

Watching out of the window from the store, he saw someone exit the bar as if in a hurry. He stopped and looked intently to the left, and then to the right. He brushed his shaggy hair away from his eyes before he leaned against the wall next to the entrance, and lit a cigarette. It was the one who had been staring at him as if he were prey; the one with the tiger gaze. _He was looking for me,_ the boy realized.

Tiger-eyes finished his cigarette and turned to walk down the sidewalk. The sun was now low in the sky, and the clouds were beginning to thicken with the promise of rain. _Maybe I should try following you, instead._

The boy slipped out of the store. Making sure he kept a safe distance, he followed his new target. The man was walking at a brisk pace, so in a short time he made his way quickly through the district.

The boy could smell the sea long before he arrived at the warehouses near the port. Tiger-eyes walked up to a man that appeared to be a supervisor, and began talking to him. The man nodded, and then pointed in another direction. A large truck drove up and stopped, blocking the boy's view from the two men. The boy walked a little further down until he came upon a small group of men loading boxes into a van. Again he noticed some of the men were tattooed, but in this place they were not trying to hide the marks. He saw the lengthening shadows on the ground as the sun began to set.

_This looks like the perfect place to start._

He turned around and walked away from the pier. It was getting late and he needed to think about where he was going to find shelter for the night.

He came upon a small park with a playground. It was rapidly getting dark and the clouds were coming in fast. He felt a heavy drop of rain hit him on the arm. He looked around the park and noticed the colorful playground was now abandoned. He focused on a plastic tunnel that connected a climbing area with a platform that led to a slide.

He climbed onto the play set and crawled into the tunnel. It was long enough for him to lie down, although the angle curled around. He heard a few heavy patters of rain hit the tunnel, then briefly stop, before erupting again in a torrent.

. . . . .

He was lying in the tube with the rain beating down hard. It was almost deafening, but the static-sounding noise was causing him to nod off. _It's a narrow space, more uncomfortable than lying down on that narrow white couch._

_A white couch. White becomes stained so easily. The back of the couch looks spotless though._

He opened his eyes and violently shook his head. _No, I'm not falling asleep... with THAT memory. Later, when things have calmed down, I'll deal with it._

The hard rain turned lighter but more steady. He concentrated on the softer rhythmic sound. _Calmer._ _I'm in my bed back home. Everything is as it was before. The desk lamp is on, and my textbook is waiting for me to finish the problem._ He got up and went to his desk to work, but just when he finally began making some progress, the loud BANG caused him to jump. When he opened the door to his room, he could only see the back of the couch.

_NO. I have no intention of looking on the other side of the couch. This time I'll just stay by my door._

But his father was looking. He was standing next to the couch, looking. A grief-stricken cry erupted from his father. It was a sound he would never guess his father was capable of making. Now he felt compelled to look. He began to walk toward the couch...

"AAAH!" he yelled out. "Damn it!" He had drifted off to sleep again. He slammed his fist into the side of the tube. _I'm not going to let those thoughts defeat me!_ The throbbing pain in his hand from striking the tube seemed to focus him.

_Fine, let's do it. _

_I'm inside a playground tunnel. I know it's supposed to be yellow, but why does the inside look black?_

He realized he was looking down the barrel of a gun as it was being aimed directly at his forehead.

_Why was I so calm at that moment?_

He closed his eyes and followed the path of the memory.

_You're calm because you know you're about to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. You realize... this is the moment. Only you didn't expect it to come so soon. Maybe 80 years from now, if you've lived well, but... okay. _

_I'm ready now._

_ I wonder what it will feel like? Will I feel the bullet shattering my skull and burying itself in my brain, or will it be an instant black-out?_

_What's it like to die?_

_Where will I go... will I fly?_

_Ah, the sound of birds_...

. . . . .

He opened his eyes at the sound of birds. There was light in the tunnel now. The sound of a motorcycle starting up and then speeding away masked the birdsong temporarily. Other noises became clearer. He could hear cars and the rattle of large trucks as they passed nearby. He realized his muscles were cramped up from conforming to the shape of the tunnel. He crawled out of the tube and stretched, working out the kinks. Despite feeling sore, his mind was once again refreshed.

He felt hungry, but his money was rapidly running out. Yesterday's train ticket to Tokyo had drained most of his funds.

First things first... he needed to return to the pier to try to talk to one of those men. He began walking, retracing his steps from the day before. It felt good to stretch his legs.

He arrived back at the pier, but the scene was a little different than before. Instead of working, the men were all standing around in a large group. Others, some with clipboards, were talking to a few of the men. The boy saw that Tiger-eyes was there again, and had pulled one of the men aside. After talking to the man for a bit, he handed something to him. As the man walked away, the sharp-eyed man suddenly turned in the boy's direction and stared directly at him.

_You knew I was here._

The man walked toward him. The predator expression disappeared and turned into something a little more friendlier by the time he reached him. "Are you looking for a job?" the man asked.

Surprised at the convenience of the question, the boy answered, "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Shouldn't you be down there with the rest of them, then?"

The boy hesitated. He knew he didn't have enough information about what was going on to convincingly bluff his way through it. He decided his best bet would be to answer honestly. "Is that how it's done? I go stand with that group?"

"I thought you might be new at this." He pointed to the group of men, "Those are day laborers. Every morning they gather there and wait for someone to hire them for the day. Sometimes you load or unload cargo on the docks. Sometimes, someone comes by with a truck and picks up a crew to help with other jobs... such as, cleaning up construction sites."

"I see. Thank you for the information. Are you someone who is hiring?"

This question earned him a sharp-eyed glance. "I might have something for you, if you don't mind making small... _unusual_ deliveries." His emphasis on the word "unusual" suggested that the deliveries were not quite legal.

The boy acknowledged that he understood the meaning. "I wouldn't have any problems with making... _unusual_ deliveries."

The man smiled slightly. "I am Majima. What should I call you?"

Not wanting to reveal his true name, the boy hesitated for a second before remembering the nameplate at his grandmother's house. "Asami."_  
_

"Asami?" Majima seemed surprised at the name. "I expected you to give me a more common name, like 'Sato'. Now that's a good anonymous name. For the job I have in mind for you, you'll need to meet someone first."

He indicated to the boy... now known as "Asami", that he was to follow him.

. . . . .

They walked into one of the warehouses on the wharf. As they entered, Asami saw a middle-aged man standing next to an older man. There was somebody else prostrate on the ground, before them.

"I am very sorry, sir! I didn't recognize him right away!" The middle-aged man grabbed the person on the ground by the hair, and pulled his head up until he was looking him directly in the eyes. It was a teenage boy, not much older than Asami. What hair the man wasn't clutching fell to the boy's shoulders. There was an earring in his left ear.

"How could you not recognize the man?!" He yelled at the boy, "How many times have you met him? At least 5 or 6 times!" The man let go of the boy's hair, and then backhanded him, hard, across the face.

_That was a solid hit._

The teenager fell prostrate again. "Please forgive my incompetence! I swear, it won't happen again," he cried out. Asami had a glimpse of the teenager's face through the spray of long hair; however, instead of fear, he saw anger and defiance flash in the teen's eyes.

"Try not to do too much damage, Toyama," the older man said. "He's still useful to me. Perhaps your son just has bad eyes."

"There's nothing wrong with his eyes. And he's no son of mine! That baggage came with the new wife," Toyama said, with a disgusted look on his face. He kicked the teenager. "Get out of my sight!"

The teenager stood up and bowed deeply to the older man. No trace of anger was on his face, only a contrite look. The right side of his mouth was trickling blood and was already beginning to swell. "I am sorry to be so much trouble." He quickly walked out.

Majima approached the older man. "Tsukino, we had discussed... "

Toyama suddenly laughed and rudely interrupted Majima. "What an interesting new stray you've picked up, Majima! You seem to only favor the pretty ones. It makes me wonder about your _true_ motives."

Majima smiled at him, maliciously. "I have a perfect track record with my delivery boys. It makes me wonder how _yours_ has been, lately?"

Toyama scowled at him, "I'd rather work with adults instead of a bunch of children any day. You wait... someday, one of your brats will fuck up and I'll be there to gloat over it."

"I never have any problems with them."

"Try taking on that worthless piece of shit that just walked out. See how long your track record stands then!"

"I'll take him," Majima said so softly, only Asami could hear him.

Tsukino held up his hand. "Enough, Toyama. What do you have, Majima?"

Majima indicated toward Asami. "What do you think?"

"He looks very clean-cut," Tsukino nodded. "Yes, he might do nicely. What's your name?" he asked Asami.

"Sato."

"Sato," Toyama repeated, shaking his head. "Why are all the fucking kids named Sato?" He glared at Asami, "What's your REAL name... BOY?"

Asami glanced at Majima, confused, but Majima was looking at him, frowning. "Asami," he answered again.

"Well, Sato-Asami... " Tsukino said, "Majima has a special job for you. The pay is decent. Do you like sweets?"

"Not particularly."

Tsukino raised his eyebrows bemusedly, "'Not particularly'?

"Are you 'particular' about things?" Toyama sneered. He mock-sniffed the air a couple of times. "Smell that stench, Boss? It's coming from the boy. He REEKS of privilege."

"Yes, he does seem to have that air about him."

Toyama turned back to Asami, "You a runaway from a rich family? Daddy forget to give you your allowance, brat?"

"I'm not... !" An angry retort was on the tip of his tongue, but he held himself in check, "I no longer have a home. My parents are dead."

The expression on Tsukino's face, softened. "How old are you, kid?"

"20."

Toyama burst out angrily, "That's a load of shit! I'd say you were _maybe_ 17... at the most!"

"I'm 20," Asami replied firmly to Toyama. "I've been told that I look young for my age."

Tsukino turned to Toyama, "Majima also looks young for his age, but I know for a fact that he is 19." He then turned to Majima, "If he proves to be of some use to you, I have no objections. He's your responsibility though... got it?"

"I understand."

. . . . .

Before they left the warehouse, Majima picked up a small backpack. Asami and Majima walked through an area where they would occasionally stop and enter into a store. Majima would talk briefly with someone, and then disappear into the back for minute, before reappearing again.

They finally came to a bakery. Majima handed him a small, paper-wrapped package, "What this contains is highly illegal. Deliver it only to the owner, and wait for him to hand you payment for it. If anyone asks, it's a special sugar blend."

Asami entered the store, and asked for the owner. The owner's attitude during the transaction was slightly condescending. Asami quickly figured out that it really was just sugar in the packet.

_So, I'm being tested. That's not too surprising.  
_

They repeated this again at another bakery. When Asami returned, Majima gave him a suspicious look.

_And now he knows that I know._

The next place they stopped was a cafe. The package Majima handed him was slightly different. Asami made the delivery, and then returned with the payment in an envelope, along with two small jars. He handed both over to Majima. "The owner seemed to be unhappy with the delivery. There was a policeman in there."

"Yes, that would be Nomo. He stops in there, around this time of day, to chat with one of the waitresses." He looked down at the jars and frowned. "Why are you giving me these jars?"

"There was some question about why the secret spice blend was packaged in such an odd way. I told him the old lady who blends the spices had run out of jars."

"Did you know you were delivering the real thing this time?"

Asami nodded.

Majima smiled slightly. "Aren't you a cool one?" He pulled his backpack off, and put the envelope and the jars in it.

"You knew the cop was going to be there. Why would you take such a risk?"

"Any kid with half a brain can easily make these kinds of deliveries in this neighborhood. I need a reliable courier with nerves of steel for a different job with not only a hell of a lot more risk... but also more potential profit." Majima pulled the backpack back on, and they begin walking again. "Why did you tell Tsukino your name was Sato?"

"I thought you suggested I should be an anonymous person. You mentioned the name, 'Sato'."

"I was just commenting on how people who are trying to hide their past, tend to pick the most common names." Majima glanced at him with those sharp eyes. "You're trying to work it out, aren't you? You're _purposely_ trying to get in. Why are you so eager to become involved with the Yakuza?"

Asami knew it was easier to tell a convincing lie when it contained an element of truth to it. He decided to "borrow" a little of his father's history. "I'm the youngest of three in my family. My older brothers inherited my father's business. There's no position left for me, except to become one of their underlings. I refused to be under their thumb, so I was encouraged to seek my fortune elsewhere. This is the fastest way I can think of to begin making money."

"Sure, it is. Fast, yes. Tricky, dangerous... you'll still be an underling though. You probably were better off staying with your brothers. Easy life, easy job..."

"I have no chance of advancing there, no matter how hard I work at it. I want to see how high I can climb."

"You've been watching too many gangster films. Why did you come here? Why in particular do you seek out the Yakuza?"

Asami was becoming agitated at being scrutinized so closely. "What business is it of yours why I seek this out?!"

"Histories are only good for idle gossip. Now, if you can learn a man's true motives... that's useful information. What are you really after?"

"I've already told you."

"So, you're looking to ally yourself to a powerful group, is that it? You'll have to prove yourself to them before they'll consider accepting you, and then work your way up from there. I know most of them, so I can suggest which group might be a good fit for you. You'll be a nobody for the first few years though, if... they're willing to take you."

"Are you with Tsukino's group?"

"They're called the Udaka. And nobody owns me. I'm independent... or what you might call a 'freelancer'. I choose my jobs."

"Maybe I should try to be independent."

"I wouldn't advise it. You won't have any protection. You'll be an easy target should you overstep the boundaries, which you're likely to do."

"And yet, you manage to be independent."

"My situation is unique. Your situation, however... " Majima took a deep breath, "I wonder... " He thought quietly for a while. "Where are you staying?"

Asami hesitated replying, because "the playground" was not going to be a good answer.

Majima closed his eyes and looked as though he had come to a decision. "I know a place where you can stay. It's a place I own. I charge by the week, but you'll be sharing with a few others, so you won't find it too difficult to afford. If you're doing jobs for me, then part of your rent is covered, but you'll need to get another job on the side. The docks are not a bad place to start."

. . . . .

Majima took him to a rundown apartment building. He didn't knock, but just walked straight in. Two teens were sitting on the couch with game controllers in their hands, playing a video game. There was a strong scent of cigarette smoke mingling with other, unpleasant smells.

One of them looked up. "Hey, Majima! You here for the rent?" He elbowed the other teen, who was engrossed in the game. "Majima's here."

The other teen looked up and grunted. The table in front of him was piled with junk and trash. He searched through the mess, fished out a wallet, and began pulling out money.

The first teen got up, and walked over to a door. He banged on it and yelled, "Hey Yamamoto! Rent's due!"

A young looking, but very tall man opened the door. He had wet hair, and was shirtless with a towel draped around his neck. "Welcome back, Majima. Who is that with you?"

"Your new roommate, Asami. Asami, this is Yamamoto." Majima then pointed to the teen who first greeted him, "This is Aida...," and then he pointed to the teen on the couch, who was looking at him with a sullen expression, "and that one, is Ikeda."

"And just when I was getting used to having more room," Ikeda pouted.

"Well, you're going to have to squeeze in a little more than you realize," Majima said. "Kirishima is coming back, too."

This statement caused a surprising stir amongst them.

"WHAT?!" Ikeda raised his voice in protest. "You mean to say you're going to pack _five_ of us into this tiny place?!"

"Did he get kicked out again?" Aida shook his head. "Poor Kirishima!"

"Nah, he's better off staying here," Yamamoto said. "We'll make do."

"Then I'll leave Asami in your care." The three handed him money and Majima quickly counted it. "Oh... and do something about this place, or next time I'll charge you all extra. Pigs live cleaner than this." Majima walked out the door.

The three of them stared at Asami silently. Asami knew in this moment they were forming their first opinions of him.

_Just wait... I'll prove my worth soon enough._

"So... " Aida said, breaking the awkward silence, "can you cook?"

The unexpected question took Asami by surprise. "Not really."

. . . . .

* * *

.

_Notes: the ages of Asami's new roommates are: Yamamoto- 19, Ikeda- 17, Aida- 16, Kirishima- 15. _

_Asami lied about his age; he will be turning 15 soon.  
_

_Roppongi is presently more upscale and has less of a Yakuza presence than it did during the mid- to late 1980's (during the time this story takes place.)  
_

_Yakuza often recruit workers from among the homeless and runaways. This is why Asami was able to fall in with them so easily and quickly.  
_

_To Sage, Lidsworth, Ryuakilover, Kunoichi of the Moonlit Night, Asami's clown, Vykki, Taylorlin1234, and freyja, I appreciate your feedback and extended conversations about this story. It has been incredibly helpful._

Next: Seeking answers, Asami immerses himself into the criminal underworld.


End file.
